


5 Times Lestrade Gave Comfort and 1 Time It Was Given to Him

by lucybun



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-07
Updated: 2011-02-07
Packaged: 2017-10-15 11:46:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/160518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucybun/pseuds/lucybun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Title = Summary</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 Times Lestrade Gave Comfort and 1 Time It Was Given to Him

**Author's Note:**

> Kink meme fill of anonymous prompt. Original prompt and thread here: http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/5950.html?thread=26561086#t26561086. Cross-posted at LJ. UPDATE: Some lovely anonymous person did a little mock-up of the note mentioned in this fic. I love you, whoever you are! I would read the fic first and then take a look at this: http://i51.tinypic.com/1zgepad.jpg

**1.**

He was at his desk, ruining his eyes and his day staring at a computer screen, trying to catch up on paperwork, when Donovan burst through his door. She quickly went around to all of the blinds and cranked them closed. And then promptly burst into tears.

Thing was, he'd been expecting this. It never worked. Never. It was like a law of the jungle or something: you don't get romantically involved with someone you work with. Because when it went bad, and it always did, you were still stuck having to look at that person everyday. Work with that person in a productive manner.

He'd been tempted to have a word with her when he first found out about them. Going to Anderson wouldn't have done any good. He'd never convince the arrogant man that this might end badly. And he wouldn't be troubled by working with Sally everyday after he broke her heart. Anderson was just a douche like that.

He walked over to her, put his arm around her, and handed her a paper napkin left over from his lunch.

"I'm sorry, Sally."

"He...he promised. He said he would leave her, and I BELIEVED him. But he won't. He isn't going to, is he? I'm such an idiot. I'm so fuckin' stupid."

"You're not stupid, just...young."

"I don't know. I just don't know what to do."

He let her cry for a few moments before he softly answered, "You do know what to do, Sally. You just know it's going to hurt to do it. "

She started crying even harder when he brought his other arm up around her and let her literally cry onto his shoulder. He'd known this was coming, and she was really better off with it ending now. Better off without Anderson. But while he comforted Sally with his arms, he comforted himself with visions of punching Anderson in the face.  
 

 **2.**

"Why are you talking to me about this?"

"Who else would I discuss this with?"

"Oh, I don't know. Anyone else on Earth, maybe."

He watched Sherlock clench his jaw, physically holding in the insult that wanted to fly out of his mouth. Maybe this wouldn't be so horrible, then.

"You know that there is only one other...person...to whom I could speak about this. You also know that is NOT going to happen. I am asking, and asking nicely by the way, for your help."

"You could just ask John."

"I'm not going to ask him."

"Because you're too proud to admit you can't figure it out on your own or because you're afraid of messing up your friendship?"

He could literally hear Sherlock's teeth grinding at that. Eyes looking anywhere but at Greg's face, he forced out through clenched teeth, "The second one."

"Oh. Okay then. So how do you want me to do this? Think I should just write him a note 'Do you love Sherlock Holmes? Check yes or no.'"

"This isn't a joke," Sherlock spat out as he rose up out of the office chair, turned to head out the door.

"Oh, settle down, you great prat. I don't need to send him a note. I don't even need to ask him."

Sherlock turned back around, gaze still looking at something off to his left. "And why is that?"

"Because I already know. Christ, everybody does."

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but Greg cut him off, "Everyone including John. I imagine he's just been waiting for you to figure it out."

Sherlock's eyes finally met his. And Greg realized that for the first time since he'd met the man, he saw fear in those eyes.

"How can you be so sure?"

"I just am. You're going to have to trust me on this one."

With a nod, Sherlock turned back to the door, but before he opened it, he mumbled out a "Thank you, Lestrade." Then he swung open the door and swooped out, presumably to go get his man.

Greg smiled and began to chuckle a bit, stunned and pleased at the reluctant gratitude. "Go get him, tiger!" he yelled out the open door.  
 

 **3.**

"He's going to be fine."

No reply. No acknowledgment that he'd even spoken. Just more pacing, one hand on his hips, the other running through his hair. Worry and consternation in motion.

"Sherlock, the doctor said he'll be fine. You can calm down now."

Still nothing.

"SHERLOCK HOLMES!"

The man finally stopped, looked at Greg liked he'd materialized out of thin air in front of his eyes.

"Look, John is going to be fine. You're making yourself sick over nothing. Sit down, have a cup of coffee. Maybe eat a bag of crisps. When was the last time you ate anyway?"

"I don't know. It doesn't matter. I'm not hungry."

"Well then at least sit down. You're making me dizzy pacing back and forth like that."

Sherlock smoothed the front of his shirt down and finally took a seat a couple of chairs down from Greg. He sat there for a few moments, arms across his chest, staring out into some vague middle distance, clearly deep in thought. Greg took that as his cue to relax a bit. He'd just tipped his head back, closed his eyes for just a moment, when Sherlock jumped out of the chair, hand tugging back through his hair.

"I just don't see why they won't let me back there! I didn't like the looks of that doctor. He's sleeping with the blonde nurse. What if they get distracted by one another? People do when they're having affairs...."

Greg just tuned him out at that point, resumed his dozing position. God, but it was going to be a long night.  
 

 **4.**

"But they're just herbal soothers."

"I know that, Mrs. Hudson. And you're not in any sort of trouble."

"But all those policemen came into my flat. I thought they were here for me." She looked close to tears.

"I know they came into your flat. That was a mistake, mam. They were only meant to go into Sherlock's. You know how it is by now."

"I do. Or, well, I thought I did, dear. But it was terribly frightening." He rubbed small circles into her back while he ushered her over to a rather puffy, rather pink chair.

"I know it was. And I'm so sorry. Shall I get someone to fetch you some tea? Maybe one of your soothers? Hmm?" He could hear Sherlock and Anderson yelling upstairs, followed quickly by the sound of something large breaking. He needed to get up there fast.

"Well, if you think it's all right."

"I do. It's fine." Grabbing one of the patrolmen wandering around the hallway, Greg pushed the young man into the flat to tend to Mrs. Hudson. "Take care of her please," he tossed over his shoulder as he headed toward the staircase.

As he got near the top he heard the landlady's voice asking, "Would you like some biscuits with your tea, dear? You could use some weight on you. Do you like Jammie Dodgers?"  
 

 **5.**

"I am going to kill him. And I'm going to do it so cleverly that you'll never figure out who did it without his help. Only he'll be too dead to help you so I'll get away with it scot free."

The man had given this some thought, then? What was he thinking? The man lived with Sherlock Holmes. Of course he'd given some thought to murdering him.

"He's going to be fine. You know how he is, John."

"Infuriating? Irritating? Idiotic? Daft? Stupid? Infuriating?"

"You already said that one."

"Because he's infuriating times two. He's infuriating times a million. When he gets out of there, I'm going to kill him. I mean it."

"Well, that would be a waste of a lot of hard work. And a very expensive wardrobe. Maybe you should sit down. You're making me dizzy pacing back and forth like that." Deja vu.

The man turned and sat down in a chair a couple of seats down from Greg. He sat quietly for a few moments, sipped his coffee. Greg was rubbing at his eyes, scrubbing his hands up and down his face in an effort to wake himself up a bit, when John shot out of his seat. He headed towards the little trash bin and threw his empty paper cup in there. Hard.

"I just don't see why they won't let me back there! I'm a doctor, for God's sake!..." On and on as he resumed his pacing.

Greg banged his head back against the wall and thought about investing in some ear plugs.  
 

 **+1**

He looked up when his office door opened.

"You look horrible."

"Well, thank you," Greg huffed out on a bit of a laugh.

"You know what I mean. You look exhausted."

"That would be because I'm exhausted."

"You didn't come home last night. Not even a phone call, Gregory."

"Oh, don't tut tut at me, Mycroft. You know where I am every second of the day. You don't need me to call to let you know I'm working late."

The man was toying with his umbrella. Twisting the handle around a bit. Greg absently hoped he wasn't working a hole into the carpet with the tip end.

"You could call Sherlock. You're running yourself ragged on this one. I don't see why you haven't asked for his help."

"I have asked for it. And he told me to shove it. Not interesting enough. So, it's down to me. Which is fine, you know. I did actually manage to get this far without Sherlock Holmes."

On a sigh, the other man responded, "I know that, Gregory. I didn't mean to imply that I doubt your skills. I just have my own selfish reasons for wanting this case over. Quickly."

Greg smiled at him, eyes traveling up those long legs encased in bespoke trousers. "And what might those reasons be? Feeling a bit lonesome in that big old house all by yourself?" God knew Greg had been on the other end of that feeling often enough. He was usually the one sleeping alone while Mycroft was off running the world.

"Of course not. But I have three light bulbs that need changing and the upstairs toilet is making an odd noise." Greg actually guffawed at that. It wasn't that it was so terribly funny, it was more that the humor had taken him by surprise. Mycroft wasn't exactly a joker.

After the laughter receded, he offered, "Well, I'll loan you my torch then. And find you the name of a good plumber. That'll have to do. I'm too tired to come up with a decent crack about you needing your pipes cleaned or something."

"That's quite enough to be going on with. I'm glad your exhaustion is good for something. Speaking of which, are you coming home tonight?"

"Yeah. I'll have to, I just don't know when it'll be." Mycroft did not look pleased by that answer.

"Would you...would you be terribly adverse to my looking at the case file, Gregory?"

"What?"

"I am offering my services. I may not be the world's only consulting detective, but I am familiar with his methods. I taught him his methods, actually."

Greg just blinked at him. Mycroft usually refused to even acknowledge his work. Greg thought he didn't like to think about the danger of the job, didn't like worrying about what could happen when you were married to a policeman.

"No. No, you're right. You don't need my help. I'm sorry I offered. I didn't mean for you to think that I don't have confidence in your abilit-"

"I would appreciate that. I would really appreciate your looking at the case, Mycroft. I miss you, too, you know."

At that, Mycroft gave him his knowing little smile, grabbed a chair and pulled it around to join Gregory behind his desk.

As he settled, he pulled out his mobile and tapped in a brief message.

"Letting the PM know you can't broker peace in the Middle East tonight?"

"Ha ha. I was actually letting Persephone know she could bring up the meal I brought for us."

"You already had food waiting? How did you even know that I-"

"I told you, Gregory," Mycroft interrupted, "I taught him everything he knows. Now let me see the photos of the courtyard from the first estate. I need to see if there is a birch tree growing in the northeast corner."

Greg just smiled, handed over the photos, and relaxed for the first time in three days.


End file.
